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Updated: June 20, 2025
"I don't mean to hint that he stretched his story purposely. He was standing on the mountain top. Suddenly there came a flash of fire, the report of a rifle, and a bullet zipped close to his head. And at that same instant, or a moment later well, you remember the scream of the lynx!" "You believe that it might have been a lynx, startled by the shot, and sent screaming across the plain?" "Yes."
The frogmen's jaws remained tightly clamped. Both looked flushed and sullen as they faced their captors. "Got their lips zipped, I guess," Mel said disgustedly. Bud decided to try another tack. "Doesn't matter," he said carelessly. "We know they're pals of the Mirovs." Both men started as if they had been stung. Bud followed up quickly, hoping to prod them into some unguarded remark.
They drew so close together that their branches in many cases were interwoven. The squad was moving along without any attempt to keep formation in such rough country, when there was the crack of a rifle and a bullet zipped close by Frank's ear. He started back. "Did it get you, Frank?" called out Bart in alarm. "No," replied Frank, "but it came closer than I care to think about."
As he crossed an open space a bullet whizzed by him, and then another zipped by to strike up the gravel ahead. These were not random shots. Some one was aiming at him. How strange and rage-provoking to be shot at deliberately! What a remarkable experience for a young wheat farmer! Raising wheat in the great Northwest had assumed responsibilities.
The next moment there was a flash, and a bullet zipped wickedly through the air past Peggy's ear. "The coyote, he's firing at us!" cried Wandering William. Z-i-n-g! Another bullet sang by the speeding aeroplane. Apparently the fireman and the engineer could not hear the shooting above the noise of the flying engine, for they did not turn their heads.
Evidently I had raised my head too high while fixing up the tripod, for with a murderous whistle two bullets "zipped" by overhead. I must be more careful if I wanted to get away with a whole skin; so bending low, I filmed the scene, and then returned.
From below and to the left of us there came a sound as of some one moving. We could hear stealthy voices in animated whisper. "I see their game," Blythe murmured in my ear. "Those fellows on deck are to keep us busy pot-shotting us while the rest climb up from below and close with us when we're not looking." A bullet zipped through a window and left a little round hole.
They passed the dressing-stations, perched on either side on the steep slope, where hundreds of wounded lay, then over a ridge where the track stopped and out into the pitch black open. The bullets zipped past or thudded into the ground. The troop lay down while they got their bearings. A fellow close by Mac gave a yell and was dead. A few wounded men, limping or crawling back, passed them.
"Hot in front, Stuyvie?" queried the first in undertone, as a Mauser zipped between their heads to the detriment of confidential talk, and a great burst of cheers broke from the blue line crouching just ahead across the open field. "Why, d n it, man, you're hit now!" "Hush!" answered Stuyvesant imploringly, as he pressed a gauntleted hand to his side. "Don't let the general know.
As we turned the corner, a man jumped up from the shadow of the hedge where the Vandeman lawn joined the Gilbert place; there was a flash; the report of a gun; our watchers had flushed some one. I'd barely had time to say so to the others when there was a second sharp crack, then the whine of a ricochetting chunk of lead as it zipped from the asphalt to sing over our heads. "Beat it!" I yelled.
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